


I dreamt that I went to your funeral...

by Masian (salable_mystic)



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-05
Updated: 2005-12-05
Packaged: 2017-10-03 01:43:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salable_mystic/pseuds/Masian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a snapshot of time, a decision, a road (not) taken.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I dreamt that I went to your funeral...

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This work is not supposed to portray real people in real situations! I am making no claims to knowing anything about these people. No money is being made, no harm intended. All in good fun and all that.  
> Author's Note: originally written for a "slash_me_twice" table on LJ: 064 - Ghost. 4309 words.

It was late. Very late, in fact. Or even early, Viggo thought, studying the canvas in front of him. The light in the studio was changing, and that could only mean that the sun was rising outside and he had spent the whole night in here painting. Not that it mattered. He was alone in his house in Idaho, taking a break from the buzz of city life, taking some time to just paint and write and do whatever he wanted to do. No obligations, no nothing.

He studied the pictute carefully and decided that is was finished, or as good as it was going to get for now, anyway. He could always come back to it later.

He put his paintbrush down and stretched, the joints in his back popping and the release of tension making him sigh. He ruefully looked down at his paint splattered clothing. Good thing he had decided to change into these old jeans before he started to paint. Not that he minded paint splatters on things, but ruining his new slacks would have been annoying.

He wondered where Orlando was in the world right now and if he should call him to tell him about the painting. Orlando would like it, he knew. But he decided against it. Their on-again off-again love affair had mostly been off this year due to Orlando being so busy, and he had no idea where Orlando was at the moment and what the time was there, and he really did not want to wake Orlando up with an ill-timed phonecall.

Orlando had not looked too well the last time he had seen him - too much work, too many demands on his time and too little sleep, Viggo judged. That could take it out of the best of them.

He'd take a photo of it later instead, he decided, and email it to Orlando's email account. The account only a select number of people knew about and of which Orlando was careful where he checked it. If he checked it. Viggo shook his head. Wasn't it the older generation that was supposed to be confounded by technology? Oh well, it would be a nice surprise for Orlando, whenever he saw it. It could wait. The painting was not going anywhere, that was sure. Far too much skin and limbs and revealing words were involved in it to be seen by uninvolved eyes.

Still, he missed Orlando, and knew in his heart of hearts that they were drifiting away from each other, due to circumstances and the different choices they were making, as well as other things that stood between them, unvoiced but present. It was a gradual process, something that could go unnoticed if you didn't look for it, but it was definitely happening. Viggo had known it probably would, one day, and was actually amazed that it had lasted for this long. Their worlds and goals and priorities were just too different.

Viggo had wanted to be with Orlando openly, had grown tired of the hiding game, the lies, the sneaking around, the constant fear of being spied upon. Orlando had agreed but asked him to wait until he was done filming his contracted movies, not wanting to breach contract in any way. Viggo had agreed and waited. But now those contracts were long since fulfilled and new ones had been signed and Orlando had let Robin and Kate talk himself out of it, instead appearing with Kate more and more often and even talking about an engagement. He'd been spending more and more time with her, and less with Viggo.

Viggo knew that Orlando was afraid of the consequences, hell, he too was, and had tried to talk to Orlando about it, but Orlando would not talk to him. Oh, they still met and they still loved each other, but while Orlando's body was definitely with Viggo on those meetings and his heart might be, too, his mind was more and more closed to him and Orlando was quick to nip any attempts at a serious conversation in the bud. At first Viggo had tried to stop him, had even become angry with Orlando, but Orlando had genuinely not understood Viggo's anger and attempts to talk to him, so gradually Viggo had just given up and allowed Orlando to fill their meetings with too much sex and too little talk of anything complicated. Too little love.

He sighed. Well, he had tried. Had tried to talk to Orlando, time and again. Had tried to make it work between them. Tried to be patient. It wasn't so much the fact that they were still hiding from the world that he minded, but that Orlando did not talk to him about his decisions, his feelings, his life any more. They had once agreed that they would discuss everything that involved them both, and for a while, years even, that had worked well. But while Viggo still was careful to discuss as many plans as possible with Orlando, film schedules and gallery openings and when he was where, Orlando more and more simply told Viggo about done deals, or even onld let Robin fax Viggo whatever new contract he had signed, not even bothering to tell Viggo personally that he would be half a world away for a month or two, or six.

Things were clearly not looking good for the two of them, Viggo thought.

He sighed, rubbed his bleary eyes, and decided to go to bed. Nothing new here. Nothing he wasn't used to by now. Maybe it was time to call it quits with Orlando. His heart hurt too much whenever they saw each other and Orlando left again, always unsure of when - or even if - he would come back. Viggo thought that he was being taken for granted by Orlando, someone who waited and was always there, no matter how much Orlando pushed him around. And it hurt. Both his pride and his heart, and while he could laugh away his pride, his heart was a lot harder to be ignored. And it just hurt a lot more than it felt good, these days.

Yes, maybe it was time to call it quits with Orlando.

 

-=-=-=-=-=-

 

Forceful pounding on his door woke Viggo out of a restless sleep some hours later. He groaned and looked out of the window, judging that by the position of the sun in the sky it must be early afternoon. A soft breeze stirred the leaves outside his window, shaking one or the other one loose from time to time. Autumn had arrived in Idaho some days ago and the nights were getting cold, the days filled with sunshine and a brisk, cold wind.

The pounding on his door was repeated and he rolled out of bed with a sigh. Who the hell would bother him here in Idaho? Henry was off to college and the neighbours all lived a good stretch away - too far for coming over instread of calling if there was something they wanted. The postman knew to simply leave parcels and everything on the porch. Viggo shrugged and reached for a clean shirt - he was still wearing the old jeans, had been to tired to take them off before falling into bed. He pulled the shirt over his head and clattered down the stairs, barefoot and running his hand through his dishevelled hair.

When he reached the door and opened it he almost took a step back, so surprised was he by the sight in front of him. Orlando stood on his front porch, hand raised to pound on the door again - and this was not an Orlando he recognized: he was pale, thin, almost gaunt looking, with deep circles under his eyes and dishevelled hair. His clothing looked like it had been slept in - though Orlando looked like he himself had not slept in days.

The startled and angry question of why the hell Orlando was just showing up here like that died unspoken on Viggos lips, replaced with concern, "Orlando? What's wrong? You look terrible!"

Orlando smiled a weak smile and replied: "Isn't that my line? And I am late, as well!"

Viggo studied him, confused. Orlando was late? Whatever for? They'd not agreed to meet here. That, Viggo would not have forgotten.

He opened the door wider, gesturing for Orlando to come in, "Come in, then."

Orlando did so, gratefully, slumping against the wall as soon as the door had closed behind him. All the energy that had brought him here seemed to simply run out of him and he doubted that he could even muster the energy to walk to Viggo's comfortable living room, much less to explain to Viggo what he was doing here, what he had come here to say.

Viggo studied him closely, becoming more and more concerned. Whatever was bothering Orlando had clearly been bothering him for some time now, from the exhausted and worried look on the younger man's face. Viggo feared he might know why Orlando was here, and yet also faintly looked forward to the resolution that might bring.

The only reason he could come up with that might have lead Orlando here was that he was going to end it between them. Pain gripped Viggo's heart, so much pain that his breath caught in his throat and his knees almost bucked. He was a fool for having thought he could end it with Orlando. And yet, he had to. For his own sake. Things could not go on like they were. A sudden stop had to be better than this small, incremental death, a little more every time Orlando left and made no promises when or if he would come back.

Viggo sighed, "Orlando... I...," he gestured, at a loss of what to say. This was not the time to present Orlando with his resolution, but he had nothing else to say to him, was unwilling to loose himself in trivialities.

He finally settled for what he hoped was a neutral, "So, what are you doing here?"

Contrary to his hopes of that being a relatively neutral opening, the question had a fundamental effect on Orlando, totally out of proportion to what Viggo had been expecting.

The exhausted man who was leaning against the wall suddenly burst into tears and staggered forward to take Viggo into a tight, desperate embrace, burying his face against the older man's shoulder. Startled, Viggo returned the embrace, running his hands over the younger man's back, bewildered and terribly concerned.

What was wrong? Was it Orlando's mother? His sister? Had something terrible happened? Whatever it was, something must be terribly wrong. His poor baby. All thoughts of distance and ending things flew out of his head and he tightened the embrace.

"Shh, baby. I'm here. It's going to be all right. You're safe now. You're here," he murmured nonsense in Orlando's ear, hoping to calm the shaking man dow, "Shh, love. Shh...".

Orlando's only reply was to clutch at him more tightly and to bury his head even tighter against Viggo's shoulder.

Viggo started rocking the two of them, gently and slowly, following the rhythm that had calmed Henry down when he was a small child and looking for comfort. He kept muttering nonsense into Orlando's hair, kept stroking his back - his lover needed him now and whatever might be wrong between them could wait.

After a while Orlando's crying turned into sniffles and hiccoughs and he relaxed into Viggo's arms. He felt so foolish for bursting into tears like that ... starting to cry on Viggo like a baby. God, what must the other man think? He showed up here out of the blue and then the first thing he did was burst into tears at a simple question. Fool. He tightened the embrace that had become a loose one again, unwilling to let the other man go, unwilling to meet Viggo's gaze.

Viggo kept rocking them both together and when Orlando had quietened down and seemed content to simply stay in Viggo's embrace, Viggo asked gently: "Can you tell me what's wrong, baby? Are you okay? Is it something with your family?" He tightened his embrace, concerned for the younger man.

Orlando sniffled against his shouder, "I'm okay and Sam and mum are fine. It's just ... it's ..." he felt tears gathering in his eyes again and angrily willed them away. If he could not even tell Viggo, then what kind of a fool was he? And what the hell was he doing here then?

He took a deep breath, a breath that tasted of paint and shampoo and so much like Viggo that it almost made him cry again, for a completely different reason.

"It's silly and you are going to laugh at me," he hedged.

At that, Viggo leaned back and loosened his embrace, keeping one hand on Orlando's shoulder and using the other one to lift Orlando's eyes until their eyes met. Orlando's were puffy and red-rimmed from crying and still swimming with tears. "Whatever it is, baby, if it can shake you this much it is not silly, and I will not laugh about it. Just tell me, ok? You know you can tell me, right? Whatever it is." He stroked Orlando's cheek gently.

Orlando looked into the tender and concerned eyes that were studying him and felt tears well over his eyelids and run down his cheek. He had been such a fool. Such a fool. Such a blind, selfish, unthinking bastard. He took a deep breath as he felt a warm and familiar hand gently brush the tears away. He'd tell Viggo, right now. Only he could not do so while meeting the concerned, beloved gaze.

Orlando leaned forward and buried his face in Viggo's neck again and whispered, so low that Viggo would have missed it had the house not been utterly still around them, "It's just ... I ... I dreamt that I went to your funeral, Vig."

"My funeral?"

"Y-yes. It was autumn and the leaves were falling and I was walking on this cemetary, dressed all in black and feeling so sad, but I did not know why. And then I came upon this procession of mourners and there were Henry and Exene and the Hobbits and your family and everyone and I suddenly knew it was your funeral. And I tried asking them what happened and they all treated me so coldly and unfriendly. And there were all those people I did not know, who must have been important to you but who I never knew and they were looking at me so accusingly and whispering how I, of all people, could not have known what was happening?" Orlando paused and took a deep breath, conscious of the strong and warm arms around him and the heartbeat he could feel comfortingly against his cheek, of the unquestioning and accepting silence around him, the love surrounding him.

"And then there suddenly were you, lying in an open casket - and you looked so still and cold and I realised that I had lost so much time, so much time with you ... and that now I could never tell you all the things I wanted, needed to tell you, that I had waited too long to say them, too afraid of what they would mean."

Viggo listened to Orlando, utterly still, not even thinking anything, not daring to think. He was conscious of the hardwood floor, cool under his bare feet, of the dust motes spinning in the sunshine, of the wind outside, the quietness of the house, the warm body in his arms, the wet patch against his chest where Orlando's tears had soaked through his shirt. What did this mean? Did this mean what he hoped it did? Dare he hope? His heart went out to Orlando and his pain, and it was an effort to stay silent and not interrupt Orlando, to let the younger man say what he needed to say.

"And then I realised that men too could die of a broken heart ... and that I was going to die. For my heart was there in the cold earth with you. And I cried and cried from the pain of loosing you, of never telling you, and I welcomed the cold oblivion of death, so I could forget all that I had never done, and hope to see you again and get a chance to see you again and say it."

Orlando sighed, and shuddered, and felt Viggo's breath against the side of his head, the arms stroking his back in firm, gentle strokes.

"That was three days ago. I woke up and - and just had to come here. I spent a day thinking about it all, thinking about what I should do. I almost called you but that didn't seem right. And I couldn't wait to see you. Not one more day. So I just - left. In the middle of filming. I offered to buy myself out of the contract, but since we're in pre-production they offered to let me go for a week. I didn't care and they must have realised that. So rather than need to re-cast they changed some schedules around. Then I called Henry to find out where you were. And then I walked out of filming and haven't stopped moving - not until I got to your front door."

Viggo felt his heart tighten at the pain and resolution in Orlando's voice. "Oh, baby. " He hugged him tighter, unsure of what to say.

Orlando leaned back and looked into Viggo's eyes, his own gaze filled with resolution and affirmation, "I love you, Viggo. I know I have treated you like shit, not paying attention to your needs and desires, too busy with myself and my career and my films. I've just assumed you'd always be there for me, no matter how far away I went. I just thought we had all the time in the world. But I do love you. I always have. I just let other things, trivial things, become more important. I was too afraid of what it would mean, of the changes and the decisions and what it meant that I had handed my heart over to someone else, that there would be no one else for me ever. That I was taken." He shook his head. "But I realised ...," tears welled up in his eyes again, "... I realised that denying the truth did not make it any less true. That I might run away from you, but I would also then be running away from myself. My heart is yours, no matter if I acknowledge that fact or not. Ignoring that truth does not make it any less true. But now I decide not to ignore it, to ignore my heart no longer. If you'll still have me, here is where I am and here is where I will stay. I love you. I want to spend all the time we have on this world with you. I don't want to be the bitter, broken hearted stranger at your funeral."

Viggo studied him, afraid to hope and yet his breath taken away by the conviction in Orlando's gaze, by the heartbreak and resolution he saw there. He cradled Orlando's head between his two hands, gently stroking his cheekbones: "I don't want you to be a stranger at my funeral, either. I don't ever want to leave you, not ever, but if I have to leave you, I want it to be with the knowledge that we got to spend as much time together as possible. I want to leave you safe in the knowledge of my love. My love beyond reason, beyond time, beyond any human obstacles. I love you, Orlando. I have since we met, and I still do, more than ever. Despite everything. I love you."

Orlando smiled at him, still scared by the dream he had had, but also safe in Viggo's love. He did not want to think about parting, about death, about separation. Not ever again. Yet he was glad to have had that bitter and lonely dream, for it had showed him what he was in the process of throwing away by inaction, by following the easier path, by going along with things.

Yes, the road he had chosen now would undoubtedly be the rockier one, the less travelled one - but it was also one in which he would have Viggo standing right by him, walking besides him, holding his hand. He knew now - no, he had always known, somehow, but he had faced that knowledge now - that he would always, always rather wade through bogs and balance on tightropes with Viggo besides him, than follow a smooth and easy path on his own.

Viggo watched the emotions and thoughts chase themselves over the younger man's face. He knew that they were only at a crossroads now, that there were many obstacles to face, but he believed Orlando and the honesty he saw in the other man's eyes. His heart felt light, carefree. He felt himself start to smile and saw an answering smile appear on the younger man's face.

Orlando sighed and once again leaned against Viggo. He felt like his heart was floating, light as a feather, now that the confession and all self-denial had been taken from it and a decision been made. He had dreaded facing this decision for years, terrified of what it might mean, terrified of limiting his options, of choosing. But now he felt new paths and opportunities open up before him, and knew that the fear of limiting himself had only been an illusion. What could a world that had Viggo in it be but wide and open and full of boundless possibilities and life?

He sagged against Viggo and yawned. Viggo hid a smile against Orlando's hair. "Let me take you to bed, elf boy, yeah? You're exhausted. When did you last sleep?"

Orlando paused a moment to think, mentally juggling timezones, "Three days or so ago."

"Three days ago!"

"I was afraid to sleep. Afraid to dream that dream again. Afraid it would become real, that I would be too late ..."

"Oh Orlando," Viggo gently pushed Orlando's hair away from the younger man's face. "You're here now. And I'll take you to bed and hold you until you wake up, okay? And nothing will come to harm you. And then we'll get up and have a shower together and I will make you something to eat, and then we can talk about the future, yeah?"

He felt Orlando nod against his chest. "Yeah. I know we haven't been talking much. And I know it was my fault. I'm sorry, Vig. For so many things... . I know I was hurting you. I knew. I knew it when I was doing it, but I could not stop. I hated myself for it, but I could not stop..."

Viggo sighed, "I will not deny that you did hurt me. That I was resolved to end things between us the next time I saw you."

He was interrupted by Orlando groaning and clutching him desperately, "Oh, god, Viggo, no. I'm sorry ... so sorry ..." Orlando was almost squeezing the air out of his lungs when he realised just how far he had pushed Viggo, how close he had come to loosing him. "I didn't mean to... ."

Viggo mentally berated himself for telling Orlando now. True as it was, he could have chosen a better moment to tell Orlando about that. A moment when Orlando was not on the brink of a breakdown, completely exhausted from lack of sleep and with emotions out of control. He sighed. "Shh, Orlando. It's going to be all right now, yeah? You're here now and I believe you and we will work this out between us, okay?"

Orlando took a deep breath and nodded. "Ok, Vig. I'm sorry ..." he gestured weakly with his left hand "... I don't know why I am so out of control. I'm just ... I am NOT letting you go, ok? Not ever! I'm going to fight for you."

"I don't want to leave, baby. I never wanted to leave you. I just felt like you were leaving me, slowly and in increments, and I could not face that. But you're here now," he paused, and added in a firmer tone of voice: "And you're exhausted. Let me take you to bed. Let me sleep in your arms. Tomorrow's cares can wait for tomorrow. We've taken care of today's cares."

Orlando nodded against the chest of the older man, content to be here and to follow along with Viggo's suggestion. Yes, today's cares had been taken care of. He was here, he was with Viggo. He was going to be with Viggo, for as long as the world would let him be there. Viggo was not leaving him. They were going to be together from now on. No more sneaking around, no more saying goodbye for months and months, no more hiding his emotions and heart away. They were together. And together, they could face just about everything.

He leaned back and looked into Viggo's eyes, happiness and tears sparkling in their brown depths. He leaned up to kiss the older man - a gentle, careful kiss, that promised all the time in the world and had nothing tentative about it. "Yes. I love you. Take me to bed."

Viggo smiled down at him and gently kissed him back, then took his hand and led him to the stairs. "Always, love, always. I love you, too."

 

THE END


End file.
